


I’d give you the shirt off my back (All my butterflies belong to you)

by maccabird_23



Series: Fuck the Ten-year Plan [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabird_23/pseuds/maccabird_23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon shriveled in on himself, trying to unstick any of the cotton that was touching his skin like it was contaminated by the plague. Him and Pat had been dating going on six years but they were still finding items of clothing – a hat, a pair of pants, a shirt – that belonged to hockey players that Kaner had screwed before they got their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’d give you the shirt off my back (All my butterflies belong to you)

 

 

In the Kane-Toews household shirts were like remotes, if you see it unattached then it’s yours. At least until an annoying blond wrestled it back from you. That’s why Johnny didn’t give it a second thought when he pulled on a greying, black shirt. The writing had faded away but he could decipher the _good_ and the _hands_. It was definitely something Pat would wear – if not just a size too big.

           

That’s why it peaked Johnny’s suspicions when Patrick got out of the shower and his eyes immediately zeroed in on the piece of clothing. Toews had spent years learning Kane lingo – every twitch or glare had a vast definition that Johnny had catalogued long ago.

 

The look on Pat’s face was not the usual, “Bastard. You better not be thinking of gardening with my shirt on.” Which Toews was specifically planning on doing in the old shirt. Patrick’s face was contorting into something between guilt and fear. “I didn’t slash that guy, ref. I swear. I am but a tiny, skill player. Look at my curls. Innocent.”

 

Johnny narrowed his eyes, pulling on the collar of the shirt. It was a bit loose around the shoulders but short – pulling up around his bellybutton. It would definitely be too loose for Pat. And now that Jon thought about it – it reeked of cologne that was unfamiliar. Too spicy to be any of the earthy fragrances Kane liked.

 

He turned to glare at Patrick, who was stuck to the ground just outside of the bathroom doorway. His eyes were wide, mouth gaping and towel precariously hanging to his trim waist. And dammit – Johnny was not going to get hard while wearing a shirt from the reject pile of Kane’s one-night stands.

 

“I thought I threw away that shirt.” Kane protested.

 

Jon shriveled in on himself, trying to unstick any of the cotton that was touching his skin like it was contaminated by the plague. Him and Pat had been dating going on six years but they were still finding items of clothing – a hat, a pair of pants, a shirt – that belonged to hockey players that Kaner had screwed before they got their shit together.

 

Johnny would probably laugh it off later but first he had to work on getting the damn shirt off his body. The swish as it hit the trash bag was the best thing Jon heard all they – it sounded like victory. He even did a mini-fist pump as he sat back down on the couch – now shirtless.

 

Pat joined him once he found underwear and Johnny wrestled him into a bear hug – he called it aggressively cuddling. Kaner’s skin was still damp and they’d probably both be shivering soon but Toews wanted to spend a few minutes rubbing his own smells in. Johnny had a cat when he was younger that did the exact same thing when he used to come home from practices – something to do with pheromone glands. He was sure it didn’t work for humans but it felt good doing it anyway.

 

“You gotta work on that whole jealousy thing, douche face. It was cute when we were dating but we’re gonna be old and married soon.”

 

“I’ll calm it down once we run out of clothes that belong to your exes.” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes heavenward, tightening the grip he had on Johnny’s neck and shaking him a bit. “Every guy in the league knows who I belong to. No one thinks they got a stake in me just ‘cause I jerked them off seven years ago.”

 

“Not even _Good Hands_ guy?”

 

Pat blushed, biting at his bottom lip silently– and Johnny would never call Patrick bashful but in that moment he almost seemed embarrassed. It rang alarm bells in Jon’s head. _Danger Will Robinson Danger!_ This guy was definitely something different. He couldn’t put his finger on it but this wasn’t how Pat usually reacted when talking about one-night stands.

 

“He definitely doesn’t think he has a claim on me.”

 

That should have been Jon’s cue to let it go and initiate some heavy petting before their afternoon nap but he didn’t get this far in his career by giving up after one try. His curiosity was peaked and so was that nagging green-eyed monster.

 

“Is he in the NHL?”

 

“Yep.” Patrick answered, if not a bit tentatively. That narrowed it to at least 1,500 guys - 1,450 when excluding the guys on the Hawks. 

 

“Have we won a game against his team?”

 

“Yep but you never played against him.” Jonathan could tell that Pat was indulging him and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he’d just shortened the list to at least 500 guys.

 

“Does he have more awards than me?” Johnny couldn’t help it. The only thing bigger than his love for Patrick was his all-consuming competiveness. This game they were playing was just throwing both in a pot and setting the stove to boil.

 

“What is this? Clue? Its not Miss Scarlet in the kitchen with a candle stick.” Pat rolled his shoulders loose from Jon’s grip – spreading out on the couch until his feet were in Johnny’s lap. Toews didn’t waste any time - sinking the pads of his fingers into the heel of Patrick’s feet. In Jon’s experience - a good message would relax whatever was agitating Pat.

 

“He was my first and I was seventeen. He was just a rookie in the NHL but I was in awe.” Pat ran a hand through his hair, taming the wet curls to the back of his neck. His toes were gently squeezing at Jon’s fingers but his eyes were somewhere else entirely. “He gave me his phone number and a lot of times I thought about calling it but I was too afraid.”

 

“Why were you afraid?” Johnny was wrapped up in every word – knowing that each turn in the story is what led to him being here with Pat. Instead of this other guy – this unknown figure that was taking shape in Jon’s head. To Jonathan he was a mirror image of himself. Someone Pat could fall in love with – dark hair and eyes. Somebody obnoxiously competitive, who always wanted the best of everything. Jon would have killed to be him in that instance – to be Pat’s first. 

 

“I thought if I called he would just be pissed. He made it clear it was a one-time thing. He was a nice, Canadian boy and just gave me his number as a courtesy.  I didn’t wanna make things weird. But I kept his number for three years.”

 

“When did you delete it?” Johnny asked but there was a part of him that already knew the answer.

 

Patrick crawled over, settling his head into Jon’s lap and after some nosing he sunk his fingers into fine, blond curls. “You said you loved me for the first time. Do you remember?”

 

Jonathan had it etched into his memory – like the first wish he made on a shooting star. He’d wished to be an NHL player and he wanted it more than anything. Telling Patrick he loved him was a wish that he wanted even more. The Red Wings had just eliminated them and nothing could make the situation better. But there was Patrick and anything seemed possible. He might’ve not won the Stanley Cup but he had that obnoxious, little winger.

 

“A couple of weeks later he won the Stanley Cup. We were watching as he lifted the Cup. You were holding me like you are now and I looked down at my phone.” Jonathan tightened his fingers around the nape of Pat’s neck – a nauseous sense of insecurity settling in his stomach but he stomped it down.

 

“I was gonna text him. Congratulate him but then I stopped…” Patrick paused, stilling Jon’s finger – tangling them with his. “I didn’t feel all weird for him like I had. All those butterflies in my stomach belonged to you. So I deleted his number. Then and there.”

 

Johnny let the silence wrap around them like a warm blanket. His warring jealousy resolving with the knowledge that Patrick had chosen him – even though he didn’t know there was a battle. Loving Pat had always been an obstacle course but he never thought it wasn’t worth it. He was worth it and then some. It almost made him angry that this other guy couldn’t see that…

 

“Its Sid? Isn’t it?” The realization made Jon unavoidably envious. It couldn’t be helped. His future husband’s virginity belonged to Sidney Crosby.

 

“This isn’t gonna make the Olympics weird? Is it?” Patrick asked, looking up at Jonathan. He raised an eyebrow as Jon’s grip tightened in his hair. “You can always come over to the dark-side and play for the USA.”

 

“Let’s not start talking crazy here, Pat.” Johnny moved his fingers lower, messaging at Patrick’s chest. Running the pad of his fingers over Pat’s sensitive nipples. It got him a silent gasp and it felt like a small victory. “We’re gonna kick your ass in Sochi but then I get to take you home. And you’re gonna wear my gold medal while I fuck you.”

 

Patrick let out a laugh between a staccato of moans. “He might’ve gotten the C but you get me.”

 

“And baby – you’re the grand prize.” Jonathan settled himself on top of Pat. Tangling their legs and grinding his denim covered dick against Patrick’s almost naked body. He licked into Pat mouth – before nipping down to his neck. He smelled like soap and Jon. Just like Johnny liked it.


End file.
